


Twin Complex: three is not a crowd, it's a tragedy

by abri-chan (abri_chan), abri_chan



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Existentialism, F/M, F/M/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's not AU it's coma, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Psychological
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abri_chan/pseuds/abri-chan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/abri_chan/pseuds/abri_chan
Summary: There's a common misconception that Erica and Delico are twins because their faces are almost identical. For the sake of creativity let's assume they are, and see where it leads us. They may as well be twins in Yang's eyes, in everything but birth. What does it mean to be a twin? What about falling in love with one?





	1. Let's start at the definition

**Author's Note:**

> _Collection:_ Written for day 7 (open theme) of #gangstaweek2019, @gangsta-week. The story may seem a bit scrambled at first, but its structure will make sense in the end. 
> 
> _Personal:_ Because this was my first time writing, my style changed drastically through this fic. If you like the concept, please bear through chapter 2; delivery and setting get better after. I hope the rest of the chapters make your stay worth it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I created a Freudian concept.

> **twin complex**
> 
> the idea that subconsciously you want to kill your twin.
> 
> Sharing birth itself, twins compete for external resources, including the love of others, as a way to differentiate. It's the existential horror of being a double, and your relevance being determined by a third person.
> 
> In the context of Delico and Erica being twins, Delico is destined to kill Erica or Erica kill Delico, or Yang killing one over the other emotionally (if he chooses which one to love).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been Chapter 0, but AO3 doesn't work like that.  
>   
> You can find me at [ abri-chan ](https://abri-chan.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, and [ abri_chan ](https://twitter.com/abri_chan) on Twitter


	2. Chapter 2

I’ve come to believe everyone starts off as twins. But most of us murder our double while still in the womb. That's why we are born as incomplete halves. 

* * *

“So you’re sure a doctor won’t help?” 

Worick didn’t expect his morning to turn out like this. The plan was for him to sleep in, while Nic got groceries. Yet here he was, on the sofa, giving life advice to Yang. 

“I told you. I wouldn’t know how to explain it.” The voice from the adjacent sofa came out exasperated, his coffee still untouched. 

“You can try with me.”

Yang fell silent. In the pause that followed, Worick carefully regarded the younger man. Yang didn’t seem sick. But Diego was right that something felt off. Recalling the panicked call that woke him up, he knew Diego’s bet was on Worick’s way with words. Or people.

“Same dreams?” 

Yang shook his head. Even as he asked, Worick knew dreams weren’t the problem. Everyone had bad dreams around there. The city was a sanctuary for throwouts and lunatics; everyone came with baggage. But he needed to get Yang talking. The tiniest crack, and he could slip right in. 

“They come and go,” the dark-haired man continued. “It’s routine by now. Something I can live with.”

"Then why was Diego worried?"

Worick was pleased to see the other man fidget. His assumption had been right. Diego couldn’t have convinced someone as obstinate as Yang. Which meant, Yang came to see him on his own volition. He must have hoped Worick could make him talk, the blonde reasoned. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar. Sometimes you desperately want to talk, but too much trouble follows, and you choose silence. But if one keeps poking...

“You know, I don’t care if you tell me or not,” Worick said, lounging on the sofa. “But I need something to report to Diego, or the man won’t get off my ass. You know how persistent he can be!” His voice thinned, his standard hysterics on the verge of flaring up. “He calls at 6 am. I’m in dreamland, and Nic won’t answer the phone. I’m exhausted from Friday work. There are no cigarettes. Diego is alarmed as if the residence was being attacked.” He slowed his pace, making sure to emit an audible sigh. “I swear, the only thing I can tolerate in the mornings is a woman’s voice.” 

Yang decided he had had enough of the man’s theatrical blabbering. “One day I woke up, certain that I had murdered myself.” 

Worick propped himself up. He hoped to God, if any fiber of faith remained in his being, that the coffee was weak, and it hadn't kicked in yet. The perplexed look made Yang repeat himself. 

"I woke up one day, and—"

"I heard you. It's just," his bad eye had started to ache from the lack of sleep, and he couldn’t help but wince as he pressed his hand against it. “I have to ask. Are you a danger to yourself? Are you planning to hurt yourself in any way?” 

“No—what?” Yang sounded hurt, almost indignant. Didn’t Worick know about his duties to the Monroe family? And what would Delico do if he lost another person? 

“But you said you’d kill—”

“Not me! Well—me. Like another me.”

“A different you? Like a brother?” he motioned for the other man to continue. “Like Abel and Cain?”

Yang nodded. “But they’re both me,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. 

Worick had become convinced that if Yang hadn’t lost his mind, he himself did. He knew Nic was deliberately taking longer, so the two men could talk, but he needed a cigarette badly. Part of him was getting irritated with Yang. Yet another part resented the first one, for feeling anger towards a man speaking with an open heart. After all, it must have taken courage to say such nonsense. 

“And why would you murder this other Yang?” Worick asked, leaning forward. 

“Survival, I suppose,” Yang said, staring into empty space, as if peering into past events. “If we were both born, we’d go for the same things. And if he were smarter or stronger than me, he’d take everything. So I had to off him, before he did the same to me.” 

“Before you were born?”

Yang rubbed his neck, before facing the other man with a weary smile. “I find it incredible as well. But it’s an irrational belief I can’t seem to drop.” The first act of life was murder; he was convinced of it. 

Worick was taken aback. He had known Delico and Yang since children. Of the two, Yang wasn’t the one to think deeply. He couldn’t afford to, for Delico’s sake and his own. It was Yang’s optimism that kept the duo afloat. Worick leaned back against the sofa, hands behind his head, and staring at the ceiling. He regretted being about to entertain Yang’s fantasies. 

“Phagocytosis,—a way a cell can eat another cell,” he began, squinting as if physically browsing through the archives of his memory. “While unicellular organisms, like amoebas, do it mostly for food, it also happens in the human body. Most of the cells in your immune system can do it as a response to infection, or anything deemed an attack or waste. It is even theorized the engulfment of another cell gave rise to cells with distinct nuclei, like the ones that make complex life. Nutrition or threat, perhaps metamorphosis fuel, it seems survival may be running at the level of DNA.” 

After a moment’s pause, he shifted his gaze to Yang, who was nodding for the other to continue. 

“If this type of survival mechanism is ingrained into DNA, other human cells could do it too, in theory. There is some plausibility to the idea of a zygote consuming another. Unfortunately, we know enough about human embryology to know that doesn’t happen.—Biologically speaking, your scientific revelation is unlikely. Psychologically speaking, however—”

“Yes?” Yang broke in, disheartened that Worick’s conceptual curiosities had led to a dead end. 

“Psychologically speaking,” the blonde’s lips curled into an impudent grin. “I think you need a good fuck—” 

“Worick!” 

“I can always suggest some books. You and Freud would get along fine.” 

“I don't have time for your books!” 

He knew of Worick’s quirks; the man could be helpful, but always on his own terms. Yet, Yang couldn’t help the flush on his face. He listened as the older man dumped information on him, in hopes of some clarity. Only to be told the intrusive thoughts taking hold of him were a byproduct of sexual frustration. 

Although Worick was half-joking, he felt content the agitated behavior brought Yang closer to his usual lively self. He stood up to make another cup of coffee, asking if Yang wanted a fresh cup as well. Yang shook his head, grabbing the cold cup in front of him, and following the other man to the kitchen area downstairs. He didn’t like to sip on cold coffee, but it felt like a waste of hospitality to just throw the liquid away. 

“All teasing aside,” Worick spoke, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I think the past is affecting you more than you want to admit. So you fantasize a stronger Yang could have changed the outcome. But believe me, there was nothing a kid could do.—I was there that day; I was the one to find you. Whoever did it was able to slip past the four fathers. To think that a mere child could have saved the day, when the most powerful adults couldn’t, is arrogant, don’t you think?”

Yang shrugged. He supposed Worick could be right, since he himself didn’t know what to make of his recent thoughts. “I’m not a hero, Worick. I only wished we could have saved Erica.”

“Delico is still around, isn’t he?”

Yang lowered his gaze. He knew there was no point in thinking about the past. But as long as nothing was known of Erica’s fate, he couldn’t give up hope. 

“Is one not enough?”

It was more of a rhetorical comment; Worick already knew the answer. The two siblings had been like family to Yang. He suspected, at some point, the young man’s feelings for Delico had deepened into something more. But Delico didn’t seem to notice, and Yang never made a move. Perhaps, if Erica was around, Yang would extend that same kind of affection to her. 

Yang finished the rest of his coffee in silence. Before Worick made a second attempt at their conversation, the upstairs door creaked open. Soon after, Nic appeared on the stairs, holding a paper grocery bag. 

“Doesn’t he have perfect timing? Just as I was about to make more coffee,” Worick commented to Yang, moving away from the counter. 

“Hi, Nic,” Yang greeted, getting a brisk nod in return. 

Nic moved his eyes from one man to the other, trying to read the room. After placing the bag on the counter, he took out a carton of cigarettes, and handed it to Worick. 

“I think I should head back to the residence,” Yang said, placing his empty cup in the sink. 

He was about to turn on the faucet, when Nic stopped his hand, signing a quick “no”. It was the shorter man’s way of saying he’d take care of it later. In contrast to Worick, Nic wasn’t the talkative type; his words and signs always telegraphic. Precision was his talent, not only in fights. If Worick could generate as many words as needed to get his way, Nic, in contraposition, could compress all that needed to be said to its essence. 

Worick tore the carton of cigarettes open. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Later, Nic,” Yang said with a smile. 

Before the two men disappeared from his view, Nic gave Worick a questioning look. Worick dismissed it with a hand wave. 

* * *

“You didn’t have to see me at the door,” Yang protested, as they left the apartment. 

“I worry about you, Yang.” It wasn’t a lie; they were like brothers once. “Besides, Nic doesn’t let me smoke inside.” 

“Well, if Diego asks—”

“I’ll make up something. Say hi to Delico for me.”

Yang nodded. 

“I also wish we could have saved Erica,” Worick continued, lighting up a cigarette. “But you can’t chase ghosts, at the risk of losing real people. Delico needs you.”

Yang nodded a second time. Except that to him, Erica wasn’t a ghost. He had lost track of the number of times he would see Delico, and try to picture what Erica grew up to look like. Apparitions weren’t supposed to be of flesh and blood. 

“Come see us sometime. Not just for deliveries. Nic too.” 

Worick took a brief drag on his cigarette. “I’ll try, if things don’t get too hectic around here.”

Waving goodbye, Yang wondered what to do with his time. Diego had been too generous in giving him the entire day off. 

* * *

Worick was sitting on the entrance stairs, smoking, as Nic walked past him. Yet the dark-haired man only acknowledged Worick’s presence after walking down the last step. 

_“You look like shit”_ , he signed, leaning against the wall. 

Worick’s eyes narrowed. “Get off my ass, Nic. You know I didn’t sleep much.”

_“Is he okay?”_

To many, Nic came across as dispassionate. Those accustomed to him, however, knew of the kindness resurfacing from time to time. That too was scattered, never unnecessary. He had reasoned his presence would add nothing to the conversation Worick was to have with Yang. It could have even provided a diversion; someone Yang could turn to, if Worick pried too much. But now, he had no idea what the two men talked about, and only Worick to ask.

“Yang? Probably. How come you never ask how I’m doing?”

Nic crossed his arms. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing. 

“I’m doing better, thanks to the cigarettes you got me.”

_“NoT MinE.”_

He had come across Delico at Granny Joel’s shop. The young man had been wandering around the area, before being pulled into what became a mixture of conversation and gossip. Nic had been his ticket out of the situation, but not before offering to pay for Worick’s cigarettes. Nic thought it was strange, but he wasn’t going to poke any further in front of the old woman. She had enough worries of her own. 

When him and Nic were alone, Delico admitted it was a gesture of appreciation towards Worick, for frequently watching over the duo. 

_“It was Delico who asked Diego to call. No other way to help Yang.” ___

__

According to Delico, talking to Yang directly would only make Yang become better at hiding his anxieties. But Yang would have to at least consider Diego’s words. As words from a superior. An older family member.

“That boy,” Worick thought. “He tiptoes around the issue, and causes more trouble for everyone in the end.”

At this point, he didn't know whom to worry about. If something happened to Delico, it would decimate any peace of mind left in Yang. And if something happened to Yang—he was the glue that held Delico's sanity together. 

“Where is he now?”

Nic shrugged. _“Probably still wandering. Didn’t seem like he was busy.”_

“Sightseeing? I didn’t know Ergastulum was a tourist attraction. But, maybe one day, it’ll have some historical significance—” 

He dropped his musings, noticing Nic’s annoyed face. 

“I told you he’ll be fine.”

_“What did he tell you?”_

Worick grinned in amusement. “Grumpy old Nic has a heart after all! I might get jealous.”

The words made Nic cringe. It's not that it mattered if a guy flirted with him. But he knew Worick's ways; he flirted to divert attention. Nic wasn't going to get any answers. 

_“I'll head to Theo's then,”_ he signed, dropping the conversation.

Worick nodded in acknowledgement. 

_“Asshole.”_

“Just go, Nic. I need to think.” 

Nic's gaze shifted from the man's lips to his eyes, his expression flat. For a moment their looks interlocked in silence. 

Nic’s eyes were rarely still; having one less sensory door to the world forced the other senses to compensate. But now, motionless black irises were fixed upon blue ones, making Worick want to shrink from the memories they induced. He had come to know those same eyes in his childhood, wondering what the hell went on in the head of his dark-haired companion. Only he had been wrong to believe there was anything unscrutinizable about that look. It was instead, transparent, as if everything passed through it. Nothing could imprint upon it, and it reflected nothing back. 

The philosopher’s nightmare was that of an abyss gazing back into you. But, as he learned from a young age, it is far more terrifying if nothing gazes back. 

He supposed that’s what Delico meant when he said twilights were different from normals. To survive, they had to let the world pass through them. One entanglement and there’s less uncertainty about your behavior, location, or whole identity. In an antagonistic world, being perceived can be lethal.

For a moment Worick had forgotten he was no longer a child. And if adults aren’t immune to fear, they can always mask it. His amiable composure returned, a pungent remark on his tongue, but Nic had already turned his back. Worick watched the shorter man walk away, his stature getting smaller as he approached the corner of the street. Twenty-two years, and he still didn’t know what went on in Nic’s head. The man would be fine, then suddenly disappear into a different frequency. What set him off this time?

Nic handled people by tossing them into two categories: people he could tolerate, and those he couldn’t. He could tolerate Worick for the most part. But, at times, the man’s behavior would leave an aftertaste of disgust; its precipitate, cold and bitter, settling at the pit of his stomach; a feeling Nic could neither digest nor vomit. He would look at Worick and see the brat he met twenty-two years ago, who thought he knew better than everyone else. And because he knew best, it was imperative he had to save the day.

Feared and revered for his photographic memory, few people recognized Worick had a severe blindspot. The realization had caused Nic to detest the saying “put yourself in someone else’s shoes”. You can have a fish in water, or throw a man into water; but you cannot make a man into a fish, or a fish into a man. When Worick borrowed another person's shoes, all he could think about was how he—Worick would react under the circumstances. As if the problem was some pure mathematical abstraction, detangled from the mess and mud that's someone's identity. 

He was looking to solve, not understand.

It was the curse of a gifted child; surrounded by dumb adults, you realize the world is backwards, and frustrating, and it needs to be fixed. In short, Worick developed a hero complex. He had to save the day. Even when there was no day to be saved. To his misapprehension, when most people talk, they are not looking for someone to solve their problems. The other is rather a mirror, a differently formed reflection to better understand oneself. 

It disgusted Nic to no end. Did Worick really believe no one else could think? That it was his burden alone, as if every adult, past and present, were incompetent? 

Nic didn't want to infringe upon Yang's privacy. Neither was it in his character to get actively involved. But Worick’s dismissal, as if there was nothing he could do, infuriated him. It stemmed from kindness, Nic knew. But martyrdom-reeking kindness could only end in cruelty for all parties involved. Martyrs must have had no focal point but God, Nic thought. Otherwise, it would be rather unkind, to have mortal ties suffer the price of something as vague as an ideal. While Worick may think there was no point in attachments, he ought to have realized the consequences of people gravitating towards him. He didn’t, and that was a contradiction Nic couldn’t make sense of. 

He was annoyed to the point of developing a headache. At least he'd get to see Nina soon. Painkillers should be safe with his usual medication. Not that he cared, to Nina's discontent. Perhaps there were three categories, Nic thought. Nina was one of the people he liked. 

* * *

The cigarette's body burned out, as Worick contemplated Nic's behavior. He threw its crumbling form away. 

“What a waste,” he thought.

He struggled with the thought of smoking another one. His brain was trained to run on cigarettes and cheap coffee. But running through a whole pack, this early in the day, was a habit not worth gaining. He bit his thumb in frustration. Maybe he could catch on some sleep. Nic wasn't going to be back until late afternoon. And there wasn't anything to do. 

Worick didn’t bother to change, as he threw himself down onto the bed. The window stood wide open, with the blinds closed, to keep the room dark. It was a warm afternoon, and a meek air current swept through the crowded alley, rocking the blinds into a gentle rhythm, occasionally coated by the sound of scraping against the wall. Worick rolled on his back. The sunlight leaked through the window in thin bands, casting glowing strips of white across the walls and the floor. It was one of those scenes that trick the mind into fabricating a déjà vu of good times. A nostalgia of having experienced comforting warmth, as if all was right in the world. 

It could lull one to sleep, Worick thought. He felt tired, but his brain wouldn't stop ruminating. 

He could almost picture what would happen when Yang met Delico, later that day. It came down to overwork, he’d say. Maybe jokingly jab at Delico for being reckless, and complain that put a burden on him. Yang was only half-lying, Worick knew. Delico did put a burden on him, inadvertently. While Delico was looking at Erica, Yang was looking at both. From the moment the trio’s paradise was raided, even after all searches were called off, the two boys, now men, persisted in their will to find Erica. And after hope was gone, they lived on the expectation of something to happen—anything. 

Love wasn’t quite the right word, Worick thought. Yang wouldn’t allow himself to love one, because he could only love both. Whatever happiness there could be stood suspended between them, a trivial distance neither dared to cross. It must be hard, Worick thought, to have the person you care about the most at your side, and not be able to reach. Their youth spent in a bubble of expectation, mutually repelling each other to keep it from collapsing into itself. 

Perhaps he had misunderstood Yang. Instead of fantasizing of a stronger self, he may have hoped there was one person that day, instead of two. If Erica and Delico blended into one from the start, and that one was spared or disappeared, would it have been easier for Yang to move on? Would the absolute lack of hope, the certainty of it, be more comforting than a concern split in two? That way, Yang wouldn't be caught with a foot in his past, as he experienced his present.

The blinds rattled against the window. Was he starting to think like Yang? A split self, the turmoil that comes with it, what was the point of that metaphysical nonsense? It was a headache even to philosophers, and Yang was bound to grow out of it. 

Worick turned on his side. If Nic was still at the clinic, he could call Theo for some sleeping pills. Maybe even walk there himself, if sleep didn't come soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer:_ I'm not a biologist. These are simply musings of a math and CS person on biology. DNA is code, so in theory you can program a cell to do anything. Even eat itself or others. So take it for what could be, instead of what is. 
> 
> ***  
> You can find me at [ abri-chan ](https://abri-chan.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, and [ abri_chan ](https://twitter.com/abri_chan) on Twitter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As advised by a friend, I worked on setting the scene instead of over-explaining.
> 
> I am aware this fic comes across as a collection of disjointed scenes. Part of it is practicing with small scenes before moving on to bigger ones. But the main reason is... you'll see.

Despite its pains, I remember my childhood rather fondly. During holidays, wealthy patrons would take in orphans,—on the rest of the days, I would play until late. Erica loved to run,—sometimes we’d make a run from other kids. 

I don’t consider myself unlucky. Ergastulum was well into the Peaceful Era—

—I understood happiness only in retrospect. 

Each of us is born with limited potential,—I must have read it somewhere—perhaps we are born with a set amount of hope. We burn it through life, then look upon childhood with rosy spectacles. What you’ve overcome you can only hold tenderly,—there’s nothing to compare beginnings to, and anything is better than nothing. 

The old maid used to say "mornings will tell you how the day will go", and you can tell what a child will grow into from the moment they are born. Would it then be best to not grow up at all?

* * *

The orphanage was designed in good taste; the rooms and halls were spacious, and the tall windows let in abundant light. It even had a courtyard at the back; the grass wasn’t always well-tended and ferns grew along the damp walls; but at least it was a place kids could play. A handful of oak trees broke the monotone greenery, and under one of them two little boys sat down.

“You can always come to the residence. They have better food,” the dark-haired boy said, patting his companion on the back. Delico pulled off more grass strands, shaking with silent anger. His fair complexion looked even paler in contrast to the red bruises on his cheeks, and his right eye was threatening to swell.

“Deli!” the approaching voice called out in concern. The little girl was done with errands, and ran all the way from West Gate to get back to her brother quick. She hardly minded running; her twilight makeup showed no fatigue, and she loved the wind on her face and how the world became a blend of colors. But presently she wore an expression of worry, as she stood in front of her split image. 

“It's because you don't stand up for yourself!” 

Yang opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated when Erica turned to him. He wasn't faring any better than Delico; there was dried blood running down his nose and a cut on his lip. The girl's eyes searched for a tag around his neck or lack of. 

“Will you hurt him too?” 

Delico shifted his gaze from one kid to the other, tears welling up in his eyes. He feared Erica's recklessness and her willingness to take on bigger bullies. Worick used to joke she bit off more than she could chew, not knowing that peculiarity would come back to haunt them one day. 

“I’m not a coward!” Yang boasted. “These guys gang up on twilights, then scramble the moment someone tells a teacher.”

The girl dropped her hostility for the time being and knelt down in front of her brother, stroking his hair. Yang looked up through the tree branches at the clear summer sky, unsure of how to react to the familial display at his side. 

“I’m Erica. And you’ve already met my brother Delico.—What is your name?”

“I’m—”

* * *

Yang couldn't positively recall where he was and what he was doing there. He looked around the room, but it didn’t help the lights were dim and the decor was unlike that of any restaurant in Ergastulum. A sudden headache crept up on him and he rested his elbows on the table, pressing against his temples with both hands. 

“You alright?”

He slowly raised his head to meet the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t remember your name.”

She was sitting across from him and there was a gleam of amusement in her gaze. “I hear that a lot. Men can’t be bothered to complicate their lives.”

Yang shook his head in confusion. It was one thing to forget a name or even fake forgetfulness, but presently he was only sure of his growing headache. He tried to take in the woman’s features. 

“Did we already order?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, taking a roll from the bread basket on the table and placing it on her plate. His eyes caught sight of the wine bottle next to the basket. Did he drink too much? Was he blacking out because the wine had gone to his head?

“This is such an elegant place,” she spoke again after a long silence. “Worick said you needed some comforting, but do you really have no one? You seem sweet...” 

Comforting? Yes, Worick had joked he needed to get laid because—his train of thought got derailed by a sharp throb around his skull. He tried to focus his eyes on the woman, gnawed by the suspicion that their surroundings kept getting darker and indistinct. He hadn’t noticed before how her hair was light in color. 

“... you didn't have to take me to dinner, but it's nice—” 

“I—I really can’t—there’s somewhere I need to be.” The certitude of those words scared him; where did he have to go? If only he could get rid of the headache…

He bent his head down, stammering an apology. “I'll cover the tab and a cab home. The rest you can bill to the Monroe residence; Worick knows how to find me. I just—I will find the waiter...” He abruptly stood up and staggered across the room full of shadowy figures. 

“Will you abandon me once more?” 

Yang turned towards the voice, stepping unwittingly on to a waiter’s way and causing the tray and all its content to crash on the ground. 

 

 

He woke up on the floor having pulled the comforter down with him; his body heavy with the counterintuitive exhaustion that follows a very long sleep. He kept lying on his side with abandonment, eyes dilated and watching dust particles dance in the sunlight that crept beneath the bed. Like a child with spare time engrossed in mundane things. 

“Yang? Yang!” The voice outside the door brought his world into focus. The carpeted floor had cushioned his fall, but offered no protection against the cool morning air and Yang shivered. There were hard knocks at the door and by the time he rose, the person on the other end was twisting the doorknob.

“Getting dressed!” 

The battery of knocks ceased.

Yang sighed, annoyed by the guest's urgency but also relieved the terrible headache was now only a ghost memory. He flung the comforter on the bed and answered the door in the same t-shirt and pants he woke up in.

“I heard a thud and got worried—are you—Yang?” Her confident voice turned timid at the sight of blood draining from the man's face. She pushed her way into the room worried his legs would give in at any moment. “Maybe you should stay in bed for the day.” 

Yang turned his back to her and walked across the room without a word. The woman shut the door and followed, ready to catch him by the shoulders if he swayed on his steps. 

Sitting on the bed Yang tried to collect his thoughts. As he looked at the woman dressed in Monroe’s staple black suit, her softer but assertive features and smaller stature, there was no doubt in his mind as to who she was. The deep blue eyes and silvery blonde lashes were the same as her brother's, and Yang turned his head away that he may not see them.

“You're acting strange. Are you unwell? We can call Theo if you want.” The woman spoke in a matter-of-fact tone and reached for the desk phone next to the bed. 

“No!” Yang retorted, grabbing her wrist with a swift gesture. In a split of a moment he let go, as if her material form burned like hot coal.

“Then explain what is going on.” She dragged the chair from under the desk and sat on it, watching him with folded arms. 

“I got startled.”

“Is that really it?”

“Erica—truly, I'm fine. I know my room, the Monroe Residence. I know who I—we are. It’s just a bad dream.”

The little light passing through the shut curtains fell on her face and softened away its neutral expression, but if brooding or pity stirred underneath Yang couldn’t tell. 

“What did you dream?”

“Some sort of blind dating event…”

A quiet chuckle graced her face. “Yeah, those can be pretty terrifying…” 

Yang laughed at the response, his face slowly regaining color. 

“Can you believe it? I made the waiter drop his tray!”

“You were brave! I wouldn’t dare show up.”

“Delico is not here, is he?”

Erica knitted her brows. “Yang, it’s been over ten years. You should know.” Her voice sounded weary and she spoke with a lowered gaze. “Sometimes I get haunted by what I said. He was weaker than me and if something happened—”

“Erica, I'm glad you’re here!” Yang broke in ardently. "I know; I'll go back to bed. I'm probably running a fever and don't make much sense. But I'm glad, truly glad.” 

He propped the pillow up against the wall and dragged his feet on the mattress, pulling the comforter over them. “It's almost like you're sick-nursing,” he said sitting with his hands folded neatly on his lap, and looking straight at the wall before him, like a compliant child.

“Neither of us ever does that.” 

“You never get injured.” 

“No.” 

He wondered what rank was etched on her tag.

Erica straightened up in the chair. “I still think we should talk to Diego and Theo. But for now I'll bring you food from the main hall. I can eat with you if you want.” 

“You don't have to.” 

“I want to! Plus recently I don't really like being there—the new recruit, Ivan—I hate how he looks at me; like he knows something I don’t, something I have no way of knowing. And his corny jokes aren’t even funny!” 

Yang frowned in response. He was positive Ivan harbored no good intentions towards Erica but it was strange not to know how that thought came to be.

“It's fine as long as he doesn't cross me. I'm this family's best asset after all.” 

She rose and went fast across the room, that Yang only managed a meek smile as she turned her head one last time before closing the door. Left alone in the dim room, he sank into the realization that the more time he spent inside this mirrored world the more it would begin to make sense, and submitted to the fear and relief that came with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at [ abri-chan ](https://abri-chan.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, and [ abri_chan ](https://twitter.com/abri_chan) on Twitter


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing a fight scene. Erica's and Delico's roles are flipped in this world and scenarios that happened in the manga diverge.

Ivan wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside the abandoned warehouse. The place stank of blood and death and he could hear Mikhail’s voice from the alley outside, banging on walls and fumbling with yet another disembodied limb. He shivered in revulsion—the kid terrified him. 

“How many this time?”

“About thirty.”

The voice was full and resonant but its tone came out flat. The young man was crouching down next to a stack of boxes, picking up the tags Mikhail had scattered on the floor and placing them neatly inside a small wooden case. He rose as the other man walked closer, his movements almost mechanical. 

“For fuck’s sake Delico, can’t you hold a conversation for once?” Ivan spat, aggravated. He could already hear the complaints from higher-ups ringing in his ears and knew he’d have to fish information out of Delico meticulously, like winding up a tinker toy. Delico just stood there, unfazed by the man's shouts and gripping a few tags in his right hand. The moonlight streaming through the small square windows made his fair complexion look almost doll-like. 

Ivan’s eyes lowered on the young man’s shirt and his lips twitched at the bloodstains spattered across. _A waste of expensive fabric_ , he thought, _not that a killing machine would understand_. He stepped closer, bringing a hand up to cup Delico's face and squeezing his cheeks painfully. The man didn’t bulge when his head was forced up and kept staring with unconcerned eyes, as if Ivan’s towering presence were inconsequential. His hair fell to the side, fully exposing his heterochromatic eye. A twisted smile spread across Ivan’s face at the sight of its deep blue color, the same deep blue of the person he longed to pollute. 

“It’s okay, Delico. Let’s just head home,” he spoke in an oily tone, dropping his hand and pulling the young man against his chest after. Delico only nodded in his strong clasp. 

 

* * *

 

Erica opened the window overlooking the grassy courtyard and sat down in the chair drawn beside it. It was a warm and sunny afternoon, buzzing with the laughter and shouts of children playing below. The little girl lowered her head, trying to read the book she had placed upon the window-sill. 

“Phew! These second-floor kids sure are tough! I can’t even run anymore,” Yang exhaled, pushing the door open and crossing the room to where Erica was sitting. He wiped the sweat off his face with one hand, then started plucking at his shirt to cool down. “But we did win!”

The girl turned her head to meet his broad grin. “You fought to the very end, didn’t you?” There was a twinge of amusement in her voice as her still, doll-like face grew animated. 

“You bet!”

Erica drew her legs up and kneeled on the chair, leaning forward with her forearms resting on the sill. She momentarily abandoned her reading to watch the other kids play. Yang took a quick glance at her book before folding his arms over the sill.

“You should come play the next round,” he said, looking out of the window. 

“They’ll complain I’m too fast.”

There was a ring of truth in her words and Yang rattled his brain for an answer. 

“We can play a different game—Gee why so rough!” One of the kids had shoved Delico aside as they both rushed for the ball. He didn’t seem hurt or angry as he quickly got up, but Yang’s exclamation had brought Erica’s attention back to him. 

“Say, which one do you like more?” she asked, noticing his worried expression.

For a long moment Yang stared at her with wide-open eyes. “I like you both the same of course!” he stated in a final note, as if it were the natural order of things.

“So if one disappeared it wouldn't matter which?” The words escaped her in a voice that wasn't hers.

“Erica, why—” This was the Peaceful Era they were taught, where twilights and normals could coexist. Why would anyone ever disappear?

The little boy's voice cracked as he struggled to process the unusual situation. The tall backdoor leading to the courtyard creaked open and the directed cheer emerging from the earlier childish hubbub made them both look. Worick was already goofing around, his resonant silky voice filling the air, while Nic kept the stoic composure that always caused a bunch of kids to gossip and admire from afar.

“I’ll ask Nic to show me the katana!” Erica said, closing her book and getting down from the chair. “Maybe he’ll let me hold it or even teach me.” Her face lit up in expectation, making the alien thoughts that caught hold of her moments ago seem like passing clouds. The girl’s enchantment by its silvery steel blade came as no surprise to Yang. In Nic’s hands the sword swung smoothly and swiftly, as if its slender form weighted only of feathers. 

“Do you think they brought anything good to eat?”

“What about all the candies you hide?”  
  
“So? I always share!” he gleefully retorted to her chiding words. 

 

 

 

“Wait, I can’t run that fast. Erica wait!” Delico gasped, his breathing now heavy and in rapid bursts. His heart pounded as he strained his legs to go faster and he could hear the wind whistling in his ears. 

The girl was about two meters ahead of her brother, hearing his wheezing shouts but determined not to turn her head back. One look at his straggling sprint and her willpower would prostrate, bringing her to a halt. She dashed faster but still below fatigue speed. 

She loved her brother and he sank her heart, and her small body could only comprehend the anger and sadness that roiled inside her. In better days, in kinder future ones, she could've come to realize her envy as the lesser happiness of having to exist in two.

 

* * *

 

The old cardboard box, now dusty and paled to yellow, was kept tucked into the tall bookshelf for years. Erica moved it onto the desk and opened its folded sides carefully, as if afraid of disturbing the memories laid away inside. She took the charred bunny into her hands realizing how small her childhood relic looked now. 

“Are you going to look for Delico?” 

The young woman's hands spasmed but she managed to place the toy back inside the box, closing its top. Lost in thoughts, she hadn't noticed Yang standing in her bedroom doorway or for how long. 

“What do you think?” She reached for the sheathed sword resting on her desk and fastened it to the belt just below her waist. Whisking the black jacket draped over the chair's back she turned around to face him. 

“Acting without permission is—Even if it's you, the Representative and Miles will not pardon you.” Yang's voice was grave, his expression even graver.

“I'll await the punishment when I return,” Erica spoke cooly, putting her jacket on, now fully dressed in her work uniform. “Report it as you like.” She took one quick look around the room to make sure all was tidy, then tread towards the door with a fast determined gait. 

“I see,” Yang said as she walked past him. “In that case, I'll come with you.” 

Erica stopped then turned around sharply, unable to repress a giggle at the absurdity of his proposal. “It’s foolish endangerment. You saw the reports; they’re as strong as a twilight or—or worse,” She grasped her tag with one hand, hesitating for a moment. “This is not your war.”

“Of course,” Yang replied as he walked to close the small gap between them. “I am not your parent or sibling, nor am I a twilight. So it has nothing to do with me, and I’m not one of you. Despite that, I am family!” His voice rose in passion and his hands caught hold of the woman’s arms. “Don’t go thinking you’re the only one who regrets being unable to save Delico!” 

Grasping the tag closer to her chest, Erica stared in shock as the feelings reflected on the man’s face vacillated between light anger and indignity. In his time there Yang never managed to act familiar without a twinge of guilt, and even though it was undesirable to give in to melancholy his hands dropped by his sides. 

“You’ve always been the strongest, Erica, and that’s precisely your weakness,” he continued in a calmer tone, his face relaxing. “How do you know Delico will act alone? I may not amount to much in a fight but I can always provide a distraction. Besides,—if you ever waver when you see him—I'll make sure you don't back away crying.” He winked, entertaining a candid smile on his lips.

“... Sorry Yang,” Erica muttered then steadied her voice. “I'll owe you for this one.” She let go of her tag and smiled with the gratitude of a child that always gets picked last.

“Then from now onwards, for one year, I will get half of your salary as compensation. It's a deal.” 

Erica raised an eyebrow puzzled by the uncharacteristic words.

“I'm kidding.” The sides of Yang's mouth creased up as he tried to hold in a chuckle.

Erica shook her head. “Jackass.” 

 

 

 

Feeling a few raindrops drizzle over her head Erica looked up at the dark heavy clouds above. Worick swore torrent rain was nothing but bad news and in her childhood she believed it to be true; perhaps because their lackluster city showed even gloomier against an expanse of iron-colored sky.

“It’s pointless. Can we actually capture him?” Heather asked in a weary voice. She was sitting down on a back-alley staircase, consciously keeping her hurting left leg still and resting her hands on a step.

Erica returned her gaze on the little girl and stood leaning against the alley wall with folded arms. “It’s possible. If we locate him first.”

Heather frowned and exhaled angrily at the woman’s curt reply, casting her eyes on the ground. Her body grew hot and tense and she involuntarily jerked back both legs, causing a pained expression to repaint her flared up face. Erica’s heart panged with guilt and her eyes softened. She lowered her arms by her sides, her right hand clasping her left wrist after. 

“He may be as strong as me but I think I can win. We’ll definitely catch him and—and—” she paused, knowing full well that passing judgement on Delico’s crimes would be out of their hands. “Sorry, I—I’m actually really happy—that my brother is alive. Truly happy.” Erica smiled tenderly and Heather found it delightful, even though it wasn’t meant for her. 

“Erica, Heather, great news! I’ve found someone who’s seen Delico around here,” Yang exclaimed, running towards them. All the while he had been asking up and down the street, using his childhood pic with the twins as a guide. 

“Time to go, Heather,” Erica said, straightening up. 

Once Yang carefully scooped her up in his arms Heather spared a glance at Erica. She had a bone to pick with the two adults in suits and hadn’t noticed how pleasant the woman’s features and fair skin were. Paired with one of those colorful dainty dresses, she’d be alike the dolls Heather and Abby would see showcased in the windows of extravagant stores. The girl shut her eyes tightly as memories of her dead sister came back to her and trembled with her arms wrapped around Yang’s neck. Could she really trust these two grownups? 

 

 

 

The magazine building stood miserable and derelict as the two youths waited inside; half of the ceiling was missing and the remainder sagged inwards, with deformed steel beams poking out of its erose plaster. It had been a clear night as they got there, and quiet, so quiet Yang could hear his own blood thumping in his ears. Crouched down against the bolted right panel of the double shutter door he shivered and sneezed, a graphite-colored scarf tightly wrapped around his neck and his grey suit fully buttoned. Erica stood to the left of the door, leaning against a wall that showed patches of lath and mortar and stains of water marks. Her black jacket was left behind atop a sleeping Heather, but even in her white dress shirt she remained unbothered by the cold.

“Delico is in that warehouse? Are you sure?” Yang asked, extending both arms over his bent knees and feeling the night chill prickle his nose a faint red. The left panel of the door was ajar, to keep an eye on the warehouse situated in front of them. 

“The smell of twilight blood is strong around here. Just as it was at the place of the slaughter in District 6.” Erica bore herself with stoicism, arms folded, as she stared at the heaps of debris covering the floor. The fingers of the right hand tapped nervously on her left arm from time to time, and Yang noticed.

“Are you sure leaving Heather back there was a good idea?” 

“She’s of no use to us any longer.” 

“How unusual of you to follow the Boss’ words of advice,” he remarked in a hoarse voice. “Pay them back with the echoes of your victories, was it?”

“I don't want her involved in this case any further. That's all.”

Yang sighed; the still air filling him with inquietude, like a premonition of something terse about to happen. He remembered happiness could terrify people and pushed those ideas deep down within himself.

“But I promised to buy her a meal,” the twilight continued in a softer voice, “I’ll have to apologize to her properly once everything is over.”

“I’ll also treat her to lunch, and ask the Boss to take care of her—so that she can have a job and her own room.”

“For that—we’ll have to stay alive,” Erica said and Yang smiled dotingly in response. 

The sound of approaching footfalls made hope freeze on his face. The windows had all been barred and the only source of light was the open sky above their heads. Yang rose and swiftly unbuttoned his jacket, reaching for his gun in the holster underneath. He held his breath as Erica glanced towards him, her right hand on the sword's hilt. The duo turned and shot forward, ready to intercept the stranger pulling the door panel wide open. 

“... Nic?!” they gasped in unison.

 

 

 

Delico landed softly on the tiled roof, his blond hair falling back into his face and lightly grazing the long eyelashes of his maize heterochromatic eye. He’d caught a glimpse of the twilight through one of the warehouse windows; the figure standing on top of the building across slipped back into the darkness and reappeared on the roof of the next place over, as if taunting the young man to follow. And follow he did, over the next building and the one after, as the bearer of the dark olive trench coat glided effortlessly across three rooftops diagonally, before abruptly stopping and turning around. The area was flooded with moonlight but there wasn’t much to see; the district was designated to an inordinate succession of weathered storage facilities, intersecting into narrow boxed alleyways. 

The hooded figure took a few cautious steps on the barely tilted roof, waiting at about an arm’s length away from the man. 

“Delico, do you—do you remember me?” she began timidly, draping the coat's hood over her shoulders to reveal the same silky blonde hair, different only in length. No sign of recognition crossed Delico’s placid eyes and if he was at all surprised at finding a woman in place of the dark-haired twilight, none of that shock showed on his face. “Did you forget me? Please say something—anything!” Erica’s voice tinged with panic, her hope of bringing her brother back now as small as her childhood toy.

Delico’s eyes wandered slowly over her form, fixating on the glinting tags hanging from the woman’s neck and over the coat’s front. He extended an arm towards his twin and Erica instantaneously stepped back, leaving Delico's hand grasping at empty air. He smiled viciously.

“Delico...” She felt the name die in her throat, but before she could resolve whether to fight or call out once more Nic emerged atop the old building beside them, charging towards with his katana unsheathed.

Hidden round the corner of a neighboring magazine Yang watched in silence as the fight unfolded, waiting for a window of opportunity. The tranquilizer bullets were molded after regular bullets, but they held value and he found the gun heavy in his hand. _If someone doesn't bring the fight to the ground I'll have no chance of aiming_ , he thought and shifted his gaze to the cloudless somber sky; the moon shone an untainted ice white, uninterested in the events transpiring in their lives. Yang closed his eyes to focus his mind and took a deep breath. A single momentary opening…

His eyes shot open at the sound of impact and hardwood shattering. A round kick from Delico had sent Erica off the roof and flying into a pile of cleated boxes stacked against the wall in front of him. Yang rushed at her side, the muscles of his hand cramping around his gun. 

At once the twilight pushed herself up to a sitting position, the soreness in her back already subduing. There was dust and dirt over her face and coat and a few strands of hair fell out of place. 

“I got too cocky. He’s not—he’s not our—” she muttered, bringing a hand over her eyes, and Yang swore he heard all the tears she never allowed herself to cry in that voice. He shook where he stood and bit his lower lip, looking straight ahead towards the next alley over, where Nic and Delico had taken their brawl. Before the gunman could think of any comforting words Erica was already up, dusting off Nic’s coat and fixing her bangs. 

“He’s taller than me and has greater body strength; it would be dangerous to get too close. But I think I have an advantage in speed,” she now spoke clinically, moving away from the scattered broken wood and Yang followed. “Still, why is he not using a weapon?”

Yang shrugged his shoulders. Indeed, as Delico appeared in his dark brown dress shirt and black pants he wasn’t visibly armed. The twilight had no reason to care about the three busybodies, and the thought of Delico being able to kill with his bare hands sent sharp tingles down Yang's spine.

“Maybe we lucked out and Delico will be easy to capture,” Yang jested, attempting to clear his mind of fear. At first he thought Erica’s piercing gaze was a response to his coarse joke, then realized she wasn’t looking at him but past him. In a split of a moment the world became a blur and Yang found himself yelping as he lost balance and fell backwards. A loud clang echoed between the alley walls, followed by the sound of something heavy slamming into the ground. 

The gunman sat up in panic, ignoring the waves of pain flaring through his body. Erica was beside him, and a few meters ahead stood a little kid with unruly black hair. The boy's clothes were fashioned after a grown-up's suit, except his shorts, and he presently rubbed his eyes as if warding off sleep.

From what Yang knew there had been a second hunter attacking the Cristianos that night, someone who Marco regarded an even bigger annoyance than Delico. Someone as fast as a bullet and deadlier.

The child named Mikhail had struck like lightning in a clear sky. By the time Erica had grabbed Yang’s arm and flung him to the ground, she had no choice but to take the hurtling kid head on; the sword vibrated violently as it met the boy’s shoes, and the force of impact rippled all the way up her arm as her body was pushed back. Blow delivered, Mikhail used the blade as leverage to backflip and landed a few meters away on his feet. 

“Deli—co?” the boy marvelled, tilting his head. “No…” he continued, eyeing Erica’s tags and shifting his stare to Yang after. 

Erica thrust her sword forward protectively. “Delico is busy at the moment. I’ll be your playmate.” 

The threat in her voice made Yang come to his senses. He snatched the dropped gun with embarrassment and rose to his feet.

“Play?!” Mikhail grinned broadly, his eyes wide with excitement. “Say, say, can I take your tags this time?” 

“I’ll handle the kid. You go help Nic take down Delico,” Erica spoke sternly to a sidelined Yang, her back turned. “But tell him my brother is still my prey!”

Mikhail glared impatiently at the two adults. “Sis said she’ll play!” he snarled trying to win her attention. “Play, play, play!” Stamping his feet, the boy lunged forward. 

“Run!” Erica shouted, a tinge of concern seeping through her bravado.

Yang didn’t wait to be told twice. Erica hadn’t drawn her sword against Delico once, and the kid forced her to in an instant. The gunman cursed under his breath in resignation, and ran towards the corner of the building without a second glance.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [abri-chan (tumblr)](https://abri-chan.tumblr.com/) and [abri_chan (twitter)](https://twitter.com/abri_chan).


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